Locum Ignotum Chapter 15

Panicked people were everywhere, grabbing whatever they could and heaving it into carts. Mothers called after playing children and elderly women grumbled under their shawls at all the fuss. Stern faced men gathered supplies and hitched beasts of burden to the carts all the while muttering complaints to themselves.

The people of this town didn't understand why they were being turfed out of their homes, driven out into the wilderness but they complied. None among them dared to question the word of the Transhuman warriors standing over them, their weapons gleaming with deadly promise. The Astartes had dropped from the sky, bringing word of terrible danger and commanding them to flee. Perhaps resistance might have formed but the reassuring presence of Baruch had quelled any rebellion, telling them that there was indeed great danger coming. They had to leave now, he told them, go now before it was too late and take only what they could carry.

Chaplain Wrethan watched all this from the town's edge, his skull-mask and shining Crozius ensuring that none dared to come near him. He saw the people struggling to make ready and felt a conflict growing in his hearts. It was his duty to protect these people, he knew that and he had gained an understanding that these people were the Divine Emperor's flock. He was honour bound to fight and die for them.

Yet he still found these people to be weak, one conversation was not going to change his mind on that matter. They were so accustomed to safety that they seemed unable to grasp the idea of a threat being upon them. They had bickered and argued and disagreed when they should have been running for their lives. Wrethan had been so annoyed that he had been tempted to flog a few as an example to the rest. The Chaplain saw Baruch ushering the people on and was amazed by his patience and compassion, the depthless well of concern he had for trivial matters. No matter how mediocre these people were Baruch seemed to think that they were worth saving.

Wrethan shook his head, unable to resolve this internal conflict. He decided that when they returned home he would seek spiritual guidance from his master, High Chaplain Samect, to steer him through these troubled matters. It was a good few seconds before he remembered that they may well never see their home again and the realisation made him sigh. Over the vox came the voice of Sergeant Zeax, his Devastators taking up what little elevation this town offered. He inquired, "Father Wrethan is something wrong?"

Wrethan realised he had left his vox open and covered by saying, "This is taking too long, these people should have been out of here by now."

Zeax replied, "We have got half the town out already, the rest should be gone within another hour."

"Too slow," Wrethan growled, "Too damned slow."

Zeax's voice took on a mischievous air and he said, "Do you want me to fire a few rounds over their heads to encourage them?"

Wrethan smiled under his helm but said, "Save your ammunition, I will handle this."

Wrethan set off and strode into the town centre, approaching Baruch. He saw the coal skinned giant helping an elderly grandmother onto a cart and the Chaplain called, "Baruch, how much longer?"

Baruch replied, "It will take as long as it takes."

Wrethan growled, "We need to make haste, the enemy is only an hour away."

Baruch commented, "These people have crops to tend and livestock to care for, they can't just abandon them on command."

"It's their crops or their lives," Wrethan hissed but then his vox blared.

Wrethan's head snapped up and he heard a distant voice saying, "Father Wrethan, come in. This is Captain Toran."

Wrethan opened a link and said, "Captain this is Wrethan, I hear you."

Toran's voice reported, "Father, Third Company is heavily engaged but reconnaissance Servo-skulls report the enemy is moving faster than anticipated. They will be on you in thirty minutes."

"Understood," Wrethan replied and cut off his vox.

Baruch frowned and said, "What is it?"

"Time's up," Wrethan stated, "Get these people moving now; anyone still here in five minutes isn't going to make it out."

He turned on his heel and strode away calling, "Brothers, to arms!"

Sergeant Matheus' voice came over the vox saying, "Should we prepare to conduct a fighting withdrawal?"

"Negative," Wrethan replied, "This is the only cover for miles around and there is nothing but empty fields in all directions. The Codex states that this is the most defensible position so we will make our stand here and buy time for the civilians to flee. Zeax position your Devastators along the main approach, Matheus spilt into combat squads and guard our flanks. Fall-back points at the pre-arranged positions. Our Thunderhawk, the noble Punisher, shall provide close air support. We will draw the enemy in and then call down annihilation from on high."

"Compliance," Matheus responded then stated, "Projections estimated that the enemy number in the thousands."

"Thousands of foes versus twenty-one Astartes," Zeax growled, "They won't know what hit them."

Wrethan swiftly approached the perimeter and joined Zeax's Devastators, who were spread out on the rooftops, the buildings creaking alarmingly under their weight. The Devastators boasted three Heavy Bolters and a lone Plasma Cannon, to deal with armoured threats. Sergeant Zeax himself had a Thunder Hammer and combat shield, giving his squad some much-needed punch in close combat. Elsewhere Wrethan knew that Matheus' Tactical squad would be splitting up, their own Missile Launcher and Flamer being positioned for best effect.

Wrethan opened his vox and declared, "Brothers, the foe approaches, confident that their success is nigh. They believe that their accursed Gods will watch over them but you shall prove to them how feeble their belief truly is. Each of you is a champion of the Divine Emperor, forged in battle and made to be the finest warrior humanity has ever seen. You are armed with the most potent of weapons and all know you to be unwavering in your devotion. What does the foe have that can compare to that: nothing! Their faith is nothing, they are nothing and you shall make this fact plain to them!"

The Storm Heralds cheered and readied their weapons, waiting for the first sign of the enemy. Wrethan felt the minutes creep by, stretching out to eternity. He wanted to vox Baruch and ask him for an update but of course he had no vox-gear or armour. All Wrethan could do was wait and recite litanies of fortitude and alertness to keep the squads sharp. Then at last the cry came, "Enemy in sight!"

Wrethan focussed his autosenses and saw the unmistakable sight of an army on the march. They were a rolling mass of flesh, clad only with silks and piercings. There was not a scrap of armour amongst them but their skin was so heavily daubed with tattoos that they appeared to be covered from head to toe. They held autopistols and knives in their hands and waved banners over their heads that hurt the eye to look upon, shimmering with unearthly lights.

Wrethan found his anger and contempt rising, to think that this scum dared challenge the Angels of Death with such paltry weapons. But then he spied something far more dangerous, a warrior who loomed over the rest. He was clad in purple and pink Ceramite and had a pair of obscene horns rising out of his skull. He bore a bolter in his huge gauntlets, fanged with a Daemon maw for a muzzle. It was the most hated of foes, a loathsome Traitor and Heretic, the archenemy of all who pledged to serve Him on Terra. It was a Chaos Marine and he wasn't alone.

Wrethan's hatred soared into a burning crescendo and he snarled, "Traitors approach!"

Zeax barked, "Kill them all!"

Wrethan understood the impulse but knew that range was their advantage and called, "Hold the line! Nobody moves but be ready to fire on my mark."

He paused for a moment as the horde closed into range and then yelled, "Fire!" Instantly the Heavy Bolters erupted into life, hurling rounds deep into the horde at a tremendous rate. Gaudy bodies were blown apart under the hail, spraying clouds of blood into the air. The gunners fired in tight controlled bursts, cutting down scores of cultists in the first few seconds. A moment later there was a flare of light and a shining ball of plasma flew into the packed ranks, it erupted into a blazing inferno and vaporised a half-dozen cultists into ash. One Chaos Marine was caught in the edge of the blast and half his body was melted, ceramite and skin running like wax. He collapsed onto his face, one half of him reduced to a gory puddle the other perfectly preserved.

"So die all Traitors!" Wrethan yelled, holding his Crozius up high but then the foe closed into bolter range. Instantly the rest of the squad let fly with a barrage of mass-reactive shells that smashed into the front rank. The leading edge of the horde simply disintegrated, blown apart by the power of the salvo. Bodies exploded as rounds detonated within them, spraying limbs and viscera high into the air. The horde was painted with the most unspeakable of filth but they came on regardless, grinning with pleasure and opening their mouths wide to drink in the foul rain. Their numbers were beyond counting and they were undaunted by the fury of the Space Marines.

Wrethan was disgusted to see such perversion and he cried over the vox, "Punisher, this is Chaplain Wrethan. The enemy closes in overwhelming numbers; we require an airstrike, danger close!"

The vox crackled, "Chaplain Wrethan this is Punisher. Airstrike is inbound, requesting confirmation of target."

Wrethan snarled, "Target is the large mass of enemies outside the perimeter, be swift and give them hell."

"Confirmed Father," the distant pilot responded with crisp professionalism, "Commencing attack run now."

As the squad thundered away Wrethan's righteous hatred grew, knowing that in seconds the foe would be burnt to ash by fire from on high. He fired his bolt pistol repeatedly and prayed, "Divine Emperor, look upon our fury and know that your work is being done."

From above a speck appeared, diving hard for the deck. It was an angular and blocky form, with a blunt nose and stocky wings from which hung the welcome sight of six Mark17 Incendiary bombs. It was the blessed sight of the Punisher on its attack run, promising death to all it surveyed. Wrethan's heart leapt and he eagerly awaited the coming bombardment, knowing it would burn the foe to ash but at the last second something unexpected happened.

Throughout the horde the various banners flared with multi-hued lights, crackling eldritch fires haloing each of them. The flames built for a single second and then shot upwards, creating a barrage of multi-coloured fireballs. It was eerily reminiscent of a Hydra flak tank firing, an anti-aircraft barrage hurtling skywards with inhuman accuracy.

Punisher was already committed to its run and could not avoid the barrage. The fireballs struck its nose and spilled flames over the cockpit and fuselage. The reinforced Ceramite blackened in the inferno but held true, sadly the same could not be said for the air intakes. Blazing fireballs twisted in mid-air and dove into the engines' spinning fans, blowing them apart and reducing them to slag. Punisher's attack run instantly fell apart; it careened out of control as it dived nose-first into the ground and erupted in a spectacular explosion. Searing flames spewed out in all directions, incinerating hundreds of cultists but not enough to stop the rest, not nearly enough.

Wrethan was aghast at the sight and realised that the horde could not be stopped now. There were too many of them and the Astartes' guns were too few, the enemy could not be stopped from overrunning the perimeter. For a micro-second panic tingled at the back of his skull but then his training and hypno-indoctrination slammed down iron walls of self-control. Imprinted doctrines of war flashed by and the correct course of action presented itself to him. Wrethan shouted, "Brothers, fall back to secondary positions. Withdraw in staggered waves and make sure to cover each other ."

Then he opened his vox to the Company frequency and called, "Captain Toran this is Chaplain Wrethan, we have lost our air support and are about to be overrun. We cannot hold this position for long, requesting urgent reinforcement." Then he turned and withdrew, making sure his pistol had a fresh clip as the horde chased him into the town.